


Shelter From the Bitter Cold

by EachPeachPearPlum



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Bad First Impressions, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, First Impressions, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Pre-FrostIron (if you want to read it that way), Tony Stark Does What He Wants, accidental rudeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum
Summary: An overextended genius reacts poorly to an unexpected visitor.(AKA: Tony does not respond well when sorcerer!Loki asks to spend the night in his castle)
Relationships: Loki & Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Peach’s TSB 2020 works, Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	Shelter From the Bitter Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to J and G for the encouragement, and to dixiehellcat for helping with tagging, titling and summarising.
> 
> This fills the fairytale narrative square on my TSB card:
> 
> Title: Shelter From the Bitter Cold  
> Collaborator Name: eachpeachpearplum  
> Card Number: 3027  
> Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702518  
> Square Filled: A4 - Writing format: fairytale-style narration  
> Ship/Main Pairing: Loki & Tony Stark (gen, preslash if that's what you want to see)  
> Rating: G  
> Major Tags: fairytale, curses, bad first impressions  
> Summary: An overextended genius reacts poorly to an unexpected visitor.  
> Word Count: 784

Once upon a time, there was an engineer. He was occasionally charming (when he put his mind to it, though the gods know he rarely saw much reason for that), often abrasive, and always brilliant, though the circumstances of his childhood caused him to doubt that fact much of the time.

Unfortunately for the engineer, upon the day the sorcerer came a-calling, he was feeling rather more inclined towards abrasive than charming.

The sorcerer, a tall, slender, eccentrically dressed gentleman, tapped his staff against the door to the engineer’s castle for quite some time before the engineer remembered that he’d granted his butler the week off. By the time the engineer had made his way to the door, he was as irritated by the interruption to his work as the sorcerer was by the delay.

And so it was that when the sorcerer requested shelter from a storm he declared to be imminent, he sounded more than a little impatient, and the engineer found himself responding in kind.

Perhaps if the engineer’s refusal had been politer, if he had explained that there was no one in the castle capable of preparing a hot meal and a freshly made bed for the sorcerer, the sorcerer may have responded in a more amicable fashion. If he had apologised and given the sorcerer directions to the closest hostelry, the sorcerer may have been satisfied and departed without further discussion.

Sadly, this was not to be, for in his butler’s absence the engineer had neither eaten nor slept in rather more hours than could perhaps be considered healthy.

“You want what?” barked the engineer, blinking blearily at the sorcerer, the vast majority of his considerable mental faculties left in his laboratory with his latest invention. Without granting the sorcerer time to offer a response, the engineer added a sharp, “I’m busy, leave me alone,” and allowed the heavy oak door to close with an impressive thud.

Undeterred, the sorcerer raised his staff again, each booming impact seeming louder than the one before, until it resonated deep within the engineer’s bones, and he tore open the door again.

“What?” he roared.

The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed and, had he been less bleary-eyed with exhaustion, the engineer might have noticed a spark glinting bright and blue in the depths of the stone that adorned his staff. Of course, this would not necessarily have meant much to the engineer, who knew little of the arcane arts (and, truth be told, had oft professed his great dislike for them), but he might at least have approached the conversation with a little more caution.

“I request sanctuary,” the sorcerer repeated, “from the oncoming storm.”

“Request it somewhere else,” the engineer snarled. “I told you, I’m busy. You can’t stay here!”

“I see,” the sorcerer answered. His voice was quiet, but with a whisper of frost to it, a solid accompaniment to the icy breeze that chose this moment to make its entrance. “I must say, I find myself disappointed by your inhospitable attitude.”

The engineer smiled sharply. “You’ve got the wrong place, if you want hospitable,” he snapped, making to close the door in the sorcerer's face once more. “Goodbye.”

The sorcerer stepped forward, grimacing as he wedged one highly polished shoe into the opening. He glared at the engineer, his fury dramatically lowering the temperature of the air around him, frost forming intricate patterns on the stone steps at his feet.

“Seriously?” demanded the engineer, leaning all his weight on the door. Distressingly, this seemed to have little effect on the sorcerer, who smirked at him in response.

“Well,” the sorcerer said softly, sounding remarkably like a calm, rational human being, despite being none of those things. “It seems that is how you wish it to be. If you cannot see the value of offering help to those who need it, I see no reason for you to receive it. Until such time as you choose to offer aid to another without hope of receiving anything in return, you will find yourself unable to ask it for yourself.”

The engineer merely raised an eyebrow, phenomenally underwhelmed, and watched as the sorcerer tapped the base of his sceptre upon the stone three times, each one precise and powerful, scattering bright blue sparks into the air, then, finally, withdrew his foot from the doorway.

“Uh-huh,” the engineer said, entirely unconcerned, for he was just as unwilling to ask for help as he was to accept the existence of magic. “Thanks for that phenomenal waste of time.”

Without further ado, he slammed and firmly locked the door, then returned to his workshop. He had far more important things to do than worry about some ridiculous curse.

**Author's Note:**

> Bother me on tumblr at [dreaminglypeach](https://dreaminglypeach.tumblr.com/). I promise, I'd love to talk to you there.


End file.
